Dark Winds

by Christopher Patterson

  “These heathens,” A’Uthma spat. “They would shut the door on us like dogs.”

  “They will be back,” Kehl said, hoping he was right. “They need us as much as we need them.”

  They waited for a while then the scratching of iron on iron came from behind the door again and it cracked open, this time a little wider, wide enough for a man to pass into the darkness.

  “Follow me,” said the doorkeeper. Kehl could barely see the cloaked man in the dim light.

  They walked down a winding staircase with a fading torch spaced at every thirty paces or so, just enough to cast a faint light on the steps, so people wouldn’t miss a step and fall and break their neck. It seemed that every time Kehl visited this thieves’ guild, his guide led him down a different set of stairs, a different hallway, through different doors into different rooms.

  The stairs finally opened to a large room, well-lit and spacious.

  “What is on their faces?” A’Uthma asked in Samanian, referring to the two dozen men and women who stood or sat around the room.

  “A thief ’s mask,” Kehl answered in the same language.

  “No talking,” a deep voice said, hard and rough. His voice sounded muffled from behind the white, long-nosed mask. “In any language.”

  Kehl looked to the man who spoke, a large, broad-shouldered man underneath the long, thick, black cloak and disguising mask. He was no thief. Too big. A tough. A guild guard. Perhaps a bodyguard. Kehl bowed slightly and hoped the big man could see the insincere smirk on his face.

  “Kehl, my friend.”

  Dogs. They threw the word friend around like it meant nothing. A cloaked man at the end of the room walked towards Kehl. He was a slight man, even under the cloak, and as soon as he got closer, he threw off his mask to reveal a soft face with round cheeks and blue eyes.

  “Kehl, it has been entirely too long.” When he came face to face with Kehl—truly, this cloaked man stood a half a head shorter than Kehl—he threw his arms around him and squeezed him hard.

  “Just so.” Kehl tried to make his voice sound as indifferent as possible. He only came to Toth when he needed something, and the guild master knew it.

  “Come now, my Samanian friend, let us drink a cup of wine together and discuss business. I always enjoy doing business with you.”

  Toth’s wine always tastes sweet. . . with poison, Kehl thought.

  “You are too kind,” Kehl said. He jerked his head forward, motioning for his men to follow.

  “And your men, shall they want wine as well?” Toth asked.

  “No, they are fine.”

  “So few this time,” Toth said with too much frivolity in his voice. “You typically visit with at least a dozen men. Is something the matter?”

  Kehl followed Toth to a table at the other end of the room. On it sat a silver platter with bread and cheese and a silver pitcher and half a dozen silver cups. Toth poured one cup for himself and one for Kehl.

  “Quite an entourage you have here,” Kehl said, sniffing his cup of wine, “and in such interesting attire. Are you having a party?”

  “Have we known each other for such a short period of time that we cannot trust one another?” Toth asked, a hurt look on his face that was clearly pretense.

  He must’ve seen Kehl sniffing his wine. He smiled and took a hearty draught of his wine. Sweet? Yes. Poisoned? Kehl let it sit in his mouth for a moment. No.

  “Good, yes?” Toth didn’t wait for Kehl to answer. “A party. Yes. Of sorts. We are celebrating the end of spring and offering up prayers to Hymur, for a plentiful summer season.”

  “Any chance for drinking and orgies,” Kehl said.

  “Ha! Too true, my friend.” Toth laughed, slapping Kehl on the shoulder. “So, is your visit pleasure or business?”

  “Business,” Kehl replied.

  “Ah, pity,” Toth said.

  As they drank, Kehl noticed Toth’s thieves removing their cloaks and masks. They passed jugs of, presumably, some type of liquor and took hearty draughts while female thieves began to snuggle up close to their menfolk.

  “Is your party over?” Kehl asked.

  Toth shook his head as a pretty, little, dark-haired woman walked up next to him, brushed his cheek with a slender finger and slid her other hand inside his cloak. A wide smile spread across the thief ’s face.

  “It’s just begun.”

  “Then, shall we speak our business before your party gets going?” Kehl asked.

  “Indeed,” Toth said. He snapped a finger, and the table of wine disappeared. Another snap and a slender door appeared in the wall where the table had been. Toth opened the door to a dark room, but another snap lit the torches, illuminating a small office with a desk, four chairs, a table, and a wall of bookshelves and books.

  Kehl could feel the frown on his face. Magic irritated him. Thieves’ magic infuriated him. All trickery and treachery. Toth walked to the desk, his woman following, and sat. She stood just behind him.

  “Please, sit.” The guild master opened his hand, presenting the four chairs sitting in front of the desk.

  Kehl walked into the office and sat.

  “Would your men like to sit? I can get more chairs.”

  “No,” Kehl said. “They can stand.”

  As he sat, six large men walked in behind his own. Toughs. Toth’s guards.

  “So, what is your business?” Toth asked.

  “What has my business always been? Slaves,” Kehl answered, “and men. I need more men.”

  Toth cocked an eyebrow, and Kehl realized his admission.

  “Business is growing. I don’t have enough men,” Kehl said, trying to cover his mistake. He cursed himself inwardly. Fool.

  “Right. Well,” Toth said, his fingers steepled in front of his face, “I have been thinking about getting out of the slave business.”

  Kehl felt his stomach twist. The vein in his neck thumped harder and quickened.

  “Prices in your homeland have gone up. And the Finnish authorities have become increasingly aware of the underground here. It is a recipe that has ended many guilds and guild masters. I think I might just stick to pickpocketing and prostitution for a while. I have even considered postponing my smuggling trips to Crom.”

  “You can’t.” Kehl immediately cursed himself for his outburst.

  “Oh, I can, and I will,” Toth said, placing his hands on the desk and leaning forward.

  “Im’Ka’Da.” A’Uthma spoke Samanian in a whispered voice. “We should leave. This man seems false.”

  Kehl put a hand up. “It would be a bad financial decision to end our business agreement.”

  Toth laughed. “As if you are my only customer? As if it is your business that keeps me afloat? Pittance.”

  Kehl sat back. His face grew hot.

  “And as for men, well, I think it might be a cold day in the seven hells before any of the thieves of Finlo would work for some Samanian pimp.”

  Now Kehl knew his face was red, and he heard a hissing curse come from A’Uthma. He heard the slightest sound of iron sliding against leather.

  Toth now leaned forward on his elbows, a crooked, malicious smile on his face. “However, I might be able to find room in my employ for you and your men. Some of my men enjoy the company of other men. I am sure you might fit the bill.”

  “Hold your tongue, Fin, before I cut it out,” Kehl spat.

  “With what army, Kehl.” Toth sat back. His woman had placed a hand on his shoulder, and he rubbed it gently. “No, I believe this is it. I believe these five men are your entourage. You wouldn’t have waited for so long to threaten me if it wasn’t. I believe this is the end of your road, Samanian.”

  Len was the first to fall. Kehl knew it was he by the whining whimper he let out. He turned to see Ret falling, half his dark-bearded face gone, a bloody mess of skin and flesh. Ret was the last to fall. A’Uthma slid his scimitar across one tough’s throat while the dagger in his other hand jabbed into the soft flesh just below ano
ther’s chin. Flemming lifted another guard over his head, throwing him into the wall with a loud crunch. Albin ran another through.

  Kehl turned to Toth. “I told you, a bad business decision.”

  “Samanian filth,” Toth spat. “I’m going to cut your balls off, throw you in one of my pleasure houses for a month, and then slit your throat.”

  “The threats of a dead man,” Kehl said with a smile. “They never cease to amuse me.”

  Kehl drew his scimitar. Toth tried to jump over the desk, knife in each hand, but Kehl kicked the guild master’s desk forward. It caught Toth’s shins, and he fell forward, face smacking the desk hard. Kehl heard the air escape the man’s lungs, and he brought his scimitar down hard on Toth’s shoulder. His blade punched through the man and stuck into the wood of the desk. He left it there.

  Toth’s woman screamed and retrieved her own dagger. She jumped over the desk, bringing her blade down hard at Kehl. He stepped out of the way, bringing his fist to her face. She fell backwards, the back of her head hitting the desk. She crumbled to the floor, motionless.

  “You should’ve kept our business arrangement, Toth.” The guild master squirmed as he tried to free himself from Kehl’s sword. “Greed, the bane of every thief. We could’ve made each other rich, you Háthgolthanian dog.”

  “My men will kill you. Whatever you do to me, they will kill you.”

  Kehl laughed.

  “Are you so foolish? How have you made it this far? How have you stayed alive this long? You know as well as any that thieves have no allegiances.”

  A knock came at the office door.

  “Toth, you all right?”

  “See,” Toth seethed.

  “An opportunist,” Kehl said. “I am sure he would sooner see you dead so he might take your place. Now, where are your books?”

  Kehl leaned on the scimitar pinning Toth to the table. Another knock came.

  “What . . . books? I . . . don’t . . . know . . . what . . .”

  “Stop,” Kehl said. “Don’t attempt to lie to me. Your books of business, with your contacts and your whorehouses and your smugglers. Where are they?”

  “Boss, what’s going on in there?” came from the other side of the door as Toth shook his head.

  Kehl covered Toth’s mouth as he slid a dagger across the back of his left ear, removing it from his head. He felt the man’s scream, a combination of sound and blood and drool, against his palm. When it finally stopped, he unclasped his mouth.

  “Your books?”

  “Piss off.” Kehl could tell Toth forced the curse. He wanted to tell him. Perhaps one more body part. A finger. One that mattered. Not the little finger. No one cared about their little finger. A thumb.

  He felt the scream against his hand again. Toth felt underneath the lip of his desk, squeezed something, and with a click, a panel in the office wall slid sideways, revealing a neatly stacked pile of books.

  “Good boy.” Kehl patted the man’s head. “Now, your Thieves’ Cants.”

  That took considerably more effort. Perhaps there was a little honor amongst thieves. Toth truly did not want to give up his book of thieves’ incantations and spells. Kehl really did hate magic but couldn’t help recognizing it might come in handy. Another thumb, a nose, another ear, two more fingers, and the flesh off one cheek. That is what it took. Another button. Another panel in the wall. The Thieves’ Cant now belonged to Kehl.

  “This could’ve gone much differently, Toth,” Kehl said.

  “Im’Ka’Da,” A’Uthma said at another knock at the office door. Kehl could tell a crowd grew at the door, a restless crowd. He nodded to his Lieutenant.

  “I wish it had. I wish it hadn’t come to this.” Kehl retrieved his sword and looked at the bloody mess of a man, groaning and moaning as he lay on his desk. “No, I think that is a lie. This is much better for me. I will replenish my ranks with your men—and perhaps women. I will become wealthier than I had ever hoped to. And I will avenge my brothers.”

  Toth tried pushing himself up. Fool. Kehl brought his scimitar down hard, removing the head from the body. He looked to his three remaining men.

  “Flemming and Albin, you now hold a special place. As we build this empire, you will be second only to A’Uthma.”

  He picked up the head of Toth and nodded to A’Uthma.

  Kehl walked through the door, Toth’s head lifted high in his clutched fingers. Many of Toth’s thieves were naked, engaged in their festivities. As he emerged from the office, gasps rippled through the crowd of thieves, and some woman in the back of the crowd screamed.

  “You are now mine,” Kehl cried.

  “The hell I am,” spat one thief.

  A second later, a thin knife appeared in the thief ’s eye, and he fell back, dead. Kehl looked over his shoulder. Albin gave him a quick wink.

  There must’ve been forty thieves in that room, but as Kehl walked about them, showing each one the head of Toth, they cowered.

  Weak. Dogs. Fools. Things would change. All who resisted would die. He would build an empire, and the first to face his wrath would be the men of Waterton.

  Chapter 41

  “IT’S BEEN YEARS SINCE I’VE visited Dûrn Tor,” Del Alzon said. The city came into view, half-hidden by the rolling hills of the Western Tor.

  “I hope it was a pleasant visit,” Maktus said.

  “Aye, it was.” Del could feel himself smiling. He remembered a tall pint of beer, a long pipe with cherry-flavored pipe weed, and a beautiful dark-haired girl with big . . . eyes. “Dûrn Tor has always been a pleasant place, a good place to visit. Good drink. Good women. Peaceful.”

  “Aye, fer sure. Peaceful. That’s what I love about this place,” Yager added. “They used to have this place—The Hill Giant—good beef.”

  “And there it is,” Del Alzon said. “I’ll never forget those antlers. It had to have been a hill giant to bring down such a creature.”

  Del Alzon paid a young boy to stable their horses. When he opened the door, he took a deep breath.

  “Beef,” he muttered. “Spiced wine.”

  He pulled at his pants. Through their travels to the Blue Forest, to Finlo, and then to Dûrn Tor, Del Alzon found himself tightening his girdle until he couldn’t tighten it anymore. Looking down, he still had a belly that blocked any vision of his feet, and he still waddled when he walked, but his horse did seem to groan and complain less when he mounted the beast.

  “I’ll have to make a new hole,” he whispered to himself.

  “And what do we have here?” The voice sounded harsh and scratchy, and Del thought he remembered it. “What do you need?”

  “Has this place always been so hospitable?” Maktus asked.

  “You don’t like my table manners?” The short woman walked up to Maktus, face red and eyebrows curled into a frown. The bun pulled tightly atop her head seemed to quiver, and even though her eyes only reached Maktus’ chest, she seemed to tower over him. “You can just see your way out. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass.”

  “No, no, Ms. Minx. Your table manners are just fine.” Del Alzon bowed to the woman. “There are no better in all of Southland. We would like a table please, some of your world-renowned roasted beef, and a cup of your fine spiced wine for each one of my men.”

  She whirled on Del Alzon. “Flattery will get you nowhere in here, son. If you know my name, you ought to know that already.”

  “Indeed.” Del straightened. “So, how about that beef and wine?”

  She looked him up and down. Her glare seemed to burn him and freeze him all at the same time. She jerked her head to the side.

  “Follow me,” said Elena Minx as she led them to their seats.

  “Do I look like that when I walk?” Del muttered, watching the way her arms swung outward to the side and the way her hips juggled as she waddled. For such a short woman, she was quite large, larger than the last time he saw her.

  “Here’s your table.” Elena Minx turned and presented a large,
round table to Del.

  “This’ll be just fine. Thanks.”

  “It’ll have to be. It’s all we have.”

  Del looked around the room. The dining area of The Hill Giant looked to be built for a hundred men and not even a dozen sat there now. He nodded.

  “Maktus, Danitus, Gregory, Yager, spiced wine and roast beef for you?” Del asked.

  “It’ll have to be, ’cause that’s all you’re getting.”

  Del Alzon looked at the chunky hostess. He hoped his smile didn’t look too facetious.

  “Very well.”

  “If you’ve been here before, you know the rules,” Elena Minx said, “but I’ll go over them again. There are no whores here. If you offer a woman money for her services, she’ll probably slap you, and you right deserve it.”

  “We’ve no interest in whores,” Danitus said.

  “Oh, well, look at you. And it’s a good thing, ’cause I’m sure no whore would want you. Now, can I finish, or are you going to continue to interrupt me?”

  Del Alzon looked to Danitus, whose face bespoke a little boy whose mother had just scolded him.

  “There’ll be no fighting. Tuc and Boz’ll see to that. Kitchen closes at midnight, not a minute later. We serve good drink—”

  “The best in Southland,” Del Alzon interrupted.

  Elena Minx squinted and pursed her lips but said nothing. He thought she might have even smiled.

  “But if you can’t lift your head off the table, you’ve drunk too much, and you’ll find yourself waking up in the stables.”

  “Just like I remember,” Del said.

  Elena Minx gave him a harrumph but said nothing more. She turned and left them, and only a moment later, a younger woman came by to serve them roasted beef and spiced wine.

  “What are we doing here, Del?” Danitus asked.

  Del stared into his cup of wine. It swirled about as he tilted the cup this way and that. He could see brown flakes, cinnamon maybe, floating about. Expensive anywhere else. Not in Southland, so close to the sea. How many people even knew what cinnamon was? Would a poor boy from Golgolithul ever have known what cinnamon was if it wasn’t for the army?